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Symbol of Soviet
Stalingrad

TALINGRAD is a sight once seen never to be forgotten.

Many years hence, when w
and pronounce the word ‘Sayles
The Germans have besieged the city.
“Stalingrad” here, one does not infer the

rise before our eyes.
But when one talks of

centre of the city, nor its outskirts for

e shall begin to recall the past

it will be Stalingrad that will

that matter. This word

covers the 65 kilometer stretch along the Volga, the whole city
with its suburbs, factory sites, workers’ settlements.

The Volga at Stalingrad is not the Volga we are wont to
know. Today this river is the scene of war. Gaping craters scar
its banks. Dropped bombs send up heavy swirling columns of
water. Heavily loaded ferryboats and light vessels move across
it towards the beleaguered city.

The din of battle echoes over it
and on its dark water the blood-
stained bandages of the wounded
stand out distinctly. Houses are
blazing in different parts of the
city, and at night the glow cast by
the conflagration lights up the
whole horizon. Day and night the
roar of exploding bombs and the
artillery cannonade are incessant.

There is no such thing as a sate
spot in the city today. But this no
longer bothers people grown ac-
customed to the absence of safety.
The city is in flames. Many of its
streets no longer exist and others
are furrowed with craters caused
by aerial bombs.

The women and children who re-
main in the city take shelter in
basements, dig caves in the ravines
leading to the Volga. The streets
are strewn with the wreckage of
downed bombers. Anti-aircraft
shells whiz overhead, but the bomb-
ing continues without letup.

Yes, it is difficult to live here,
where the sky is ablaze and the
ground rocks. The charred bodies
of women and children, burned by
the Germans on one of the steam-
ers, lie on the Volga beach and cry
out for revenge.

e
VENZNG found us on the city’s
outskirts. Ahead stretched the
battlefields — smoking mounds,
burning streets. As is always the
case in the south, darkness des-
ecended rapidly- German signal
flares shot across the sky. But
night brought no relief. The air
hummed with the drone of motors,
as time after time the German
bombers dropped their load upon

the city behind us.

I crossed the Volga on a ferry,
seated next to a 20-year-old Uk-
rainian girl, an army doctor’s as-
sistant. This was her fourth or fifth
trip to Stalingrad.

“This is not my first trip here,”
the girl spoke up suddenly, as the
ferry drew closer to the Stalin-
grad bank. “Yet every time I am
a bit afraid to land. I was wounded
twice, once quite~seriously but I
never believed that I would die, for
I had seen so little of life as yet.”

Her wide open eyes were sad. I
understood what she felt—at the
age of 20 to be twice wounded, to
have spent 15 months at war, and
to make a fifth trip to Stalingrad.

Fifteen minutes more would again
see her making her way through
blazing houses, amid the ruins of
some of the side streets on the out-
skirts, heedless of shell fragments,
bending down to pick up the
“wounded and to take them to
safety.

Se
HE headquarters and communi-
eations centre is buried deep
underground. This is the brain of
the defense and must not be ex-
posed to any danger. Faces are
ashen gray, eyes are feverish from
lack of sleep. I tried to light a
cigarette, but one after another the

matches were rapidly extinguished,

for there is little oxygen
underground premises.
The day breaks, and the sky over-
head pales into a blue square The
bridge headquarters is situated in
an unfinished factory building. The
street leading north in the direction

m- the

of the German lines is under con-
stant trench mortar fire.

In the place where at one time
a militia man probably stood di-
recting the traffic, a tommy-gunner
now stands under cover of a
wrecked wall, pointing in the direc-
tion where the street slopes down
so that people can pass unnoticed
by the Germans and without be-
trayinge the location of the head-
quarters,

Qne hour ago a tommy-gunner
was killed at this spot. Another one
replaced him and is now standing
at this dangerous post, continuing
to direct the “street traffic”

by
CONSTANTIN
SIMONOV

The morning gradually brightens
into full daylight, and the sun indi-
eates that noon is nigh. Seated in
a comfortable, soft arm chair (the
observation post is located in a well-
furnished fifth tloor apartment) I
have a good vantage point.

There are German automobiles
moving past the building at the ex-
treme end of the settlement; a
motorcyclist dashes by; German in-
fantrymen walk past, Mines burst,
and one car comes to a standstill
in the middle of the street.

@

WE more day, one more night

have gone by. The streets are
even more deserted, but the city’s
pulse throbs. We pull up at a fac-
tory gate. Armed worker volun-
teers, in coats of jJeather and jackets
with belts, resembling the Red
Guardsmen of 1918, carefully in-
spect our documents. We descend
to one of the subterranean prem-
ises.

All those who remained to
guard the factory premises and
shops—the director, the men on
duty, firefighters, workers, guards
—all are at their posts. There
are no ordinary inhabitants in the
city today—they are all defenders.
What does it matter that ma-
chines are evacuated, the shop will
always remain. And the old
workers who spent the best part
of their lives there have remained

TOM BINNIE

(Iwo Miles South
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Greetings and Best Wishes
from

TOM BINNIE

1574 Pacific Highway, R.R. 4

it

to guard them to the end.

The director told us how a few
days ago German tanks pierced the
defenses in one place and headed |
for the plant. The news of this
reached the plant. The director
summoned the repair shop superin-
tendent and ordered him to speed
the work on the few tank repairs | seems almost hopeless.
which were nearing completion. Early in the morning the German
And the men, who with their own air umbrella again descended on the
hands repaired the tanks, became | city. One after another the bomb-

nests. instead of the bustling
streets of a lively city. But every-
where there is the confident smile
and the unwavering hand of the
soldier in a city where every man
and every women is a soldier.
That is why the city holds out,
fighting even when the situation

bursting anti-aireraft shells lent if
the sky the appearance of the ski-

of some grayish-blue beast. Wii
a howling sound, the fighte)

circled overhead, where a violei

pattle continued without a mt:
ment’s respite. |

The city is fighting at all cos)
and if the cost is very high, the e'

ploits of the people grim, their su |
fering unmatched, there is nothir//

to be done, for this is a life-ant”

settlement changed their appear-
ance that day. Barricades appeared
on the streets leading towards the
ditch. As in the years of civil war,
the wives carried cartridges to their
husbands, and girl workers went Tel. MArine 5746

tankmen in the moment of ®m- ers dived, dropping their loads. Ta |death combat. a t
ergency.
The outskirts of the workers’ |
GREETINGS from

JOHN STANTON

Barrister, Solicitor, Notary
503 HOLDEN BLDG., 16 East Hastings

VANCOUVER, B.C.

Dem pui lu ire Miser? tr ee Ss AG

straight from their shops to ad- |} =
vaneed positions, bandaging the

wounded and carrying them to
safety. Many perished that day, but
armed workers and Red Army mer
held the Germans at bay until dark
ness fell and reinforcements ar-
rived.
e

SHALi never forget the sight.

The long ditch, stretching far
to the right and the left, hums with
life, like an ant heap all honey-
combed with lives. The veritable
streets are dug underground. Caves
are covered with boards, rags—the
women brought everything they
could lay hands on to protect their
nests from the rain and wind.

It is hard to find appropriate
words to describe the feeling of
bitterness that grips one at the

GREETINGS from
The Housewives’ League
of British Columbia ©

:
May the Voice of :
The PEOPLE
Ring Out for SPEEDY VICTORY !

sight of the sorrowful human
be

of
REAL ESTATE

DISTRICT TRADES
of Pattullo Bridge)

INSTER, B.C.

SPENCER’S .

DEPARTMENT STORE

is on the

WE DO NOT PATRONIZE LIST

the

VANCOUVER, NEW WESTMINSTER AND

& LABOR COUNCIL

Issued by Retail Clerks’ Unien — Local 279